


Shift of Conscience

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan asks Mohinder for help to find out what's wrong with him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shift of Conscience

_“Because maybe you’re going to be the one who saves me?”_   
**-Oasis, _Wonderwall_ **

  
“Congressman Petrelli would like to see you sir.”

Mohinder is caught like a deer in headlights at the end of another long workday, trying to sneak out. He has the strap of his shoulder bag halfway in the air over his head when the security agent (or “men in black” as Peter coined months earlier with a roll of his eyes) appears at the door of his lab in the Company’s research facility. Total authority is exuded in a black suit with a button down white shirt, traditional black tie and black sunglasses. Taking up the frame of the doorway he is an imposing form making any thoughts of escape slip away.

Mohinder drops the bag’s strap into place. He pulls at the bottom of his green surplus jacket, straightening it out, and drops his shoulders with the very exasperation he should be hiding better.

It has been an exhausting day of typing up testimonials that had been collected over the last three months from Specials who had been brought in by the Company for research purposes, meant for more funding to make life for them less trying and to see if their abilities can be en masse and reproduced. The stories, covering a diverse cross section of the population, are fascinating in their differences and similarities, and they provide a good launching point for him to set off in a more focused direction. But the paperwork is immense and all Mohinder has wanted to do since he arrived at work that morning is go home and crash on the sofa in front of the television or in his bed staring up at the ceiling.

That is exactly what he was planning to do until the unexpected and unwanted interruption. If it were two months earlier Mohinder would have been far more forgiving. He and Nathan had become closer over the course of months spent working together in some capacity, with the politically minded Petrelli making impromptu visits to ascertain progress. Those visits had transformed into easy yet intense debates involving theoretical and creative ideas of both a serious and joking nature.

Their increasing closeness was easy for Mohinder to chalk up to the inevitable movement from acquaintances to work colleagues to friends, until Peter questioned it in a tone so deliberately indifferent and off hand as to be obviously pointed. Brushing it off was one thing but the seeds of forced acknowledgement were planted. Than an afternoon bled into an evening where the conversation took a turn and Mohinder was suddenly looking into Nathan’s eyes, not seeing a friend looking back at him but something all together more familiar.

Mohinder did not know how long they stared at each other or how it was that they moved closer to one another. He still does not know what would have happened had Nathan’s phone not rung, breaking the spell and tossing up an invisible barrier between them that repelled them in opposing directions.

That was one month ago and though he has replayed the night over in his head, he knows full well that someone of Nathan’s social station does not seriously consider someone of his own, no matter how genuine the connection may seem. Time apart hit the point home as did complete lack of contact and soon enough Mohinder settled back into a routine life. _Settled_ being the operative word.

Curious as to what has prompted Nathan to summon him out of the blue, he sighs. He cannot say no or ask why. At the very least he cannot direct that attitude at the security agent, not without raising an eyebrow. Those questions are to be saved for Nathan, one-on-one. “Where are we going?” he asks instead.

“He’s here sir,” the security agent tones matter-of-factly and steps to the side.

Nathan walks through the door in full politician mode—tailored black suit with a crisp white button down shirt and red tie, a not so subtle ‘heartbeat away from the presidency’ ensemble that Angela would cunningly approve of. By contrast Mohinder feels like a university student at the end of an all-nighter, in jeans, wrinkled purple t-shirt and creased jacket. He notes the tight smile on Nathan’s face as the congressman rests his right hand, palm down, over his stomach in a show of regality, the other hand in his pant pocket conveying a contrasting air of absolute ease.

“Hello, Mohinder.” Nathan nods.

Mohinder’s mouth goes dry and he swallows painfully, suddenly nervous. Uncertainty with what to do mindlessly encourages him to finger the part of the bag strap that is flush against his chest. “Hello, Nathan. This is certainly a surprise.”

Nathan’s cool demeanor falters slightly and he looks over his shoulder at the door. The agent nods and steps back into the hallway, shutting the door behind him and giving them some privacy. When Nathan turns back to return Mohinder’s inquisitive gaze his smile is bashful. He tilts his head down and to the side, and moves forward, folding his arms across his chest. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d check in on you—make sure you’re on the straight and narrow.”

Mohinder does not laugh at the joke. Rather he purses his lips and looks off to the side. He is not in the mood for a conversation that refuses to address how things were left the last time they saw each other or the fact that he has heard nothing from Nathan since then. A rude dismissal of it as ‘an unfortunate indiscretion’ would be preferred than playing ignorant.

“It’s been a long day,” Mohinder says tiredly and he works his way in the opposite direction from Nathan, as if he is completing a complimentary curve of a circle. “Unless this is urgent I’d really like to head home.”

Nathan’s jaw tenses and he fixes Mohinder in a glare. “Considering the funding for your research is due to me I think you can spare some time in your schedule.”

The statement is swift and loaded. It reminds Mohinder that no matter what friendship he may feel with Nathan, the bottom line is that their relationship is primarily business and as such he answers _to_ Nathan. Any irritation or attitude may be given a pass from time to time but that ease of dismissiveness is not acceptable as a standard part of their repertoire. Nathan is not above pulling rank.

The heavy tension in the room demands Mohinder swallows his pride. He snaps his mouth shut and lifts the strap of his bag back up and over his head. Under Nathan’s watchful eye he makes a show of dropping the bag to the floor, his animosity towards Nathan’s power play apparent. He wants Nathan to know he is unhappy with the inexplicable yet insistent nature of the visit, particularly in light of what has previously passed between them. He pulls out a nearby stool and sits down, leaning his left side against the counter next to him. He waits.

Nathan regards him with a pause then moves slowly about the room, looking about it. “How’s work coming along?”

“Slow and steady.”

At the quick and flat reply, Nathan looks his way. “But you’re making progress?”

“Yes,” Mohinder says, sounding bored at the line of questioning. “Though how much remains to be seen.”

Nathan stops and Mohinder shifts in his seat to face him, putting his back against the counter while Nathan leans back against the other counter. His arms still folded across his chest he angles his head forward, inquisitively. “Peter says you’ve been stressed.”

Mohinder has no idea if it is genuine concern or bemusement in Nathan’s voice. Defensively he folds his arms across his chest. “No more than usual,” he says, the challenge in his voice telling Nathan to get to the point. “It comes with the territory.”

Nathan smiles to himself and sticks out his mouth, staring at the floor for a moment. “The side effects of having a true calling. Diminishes the allure a bit.”

“Depends on if what you’re doing is for the reward at the end or the journey along the way.” Mohinder leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs.

“Can’t those be one and the same?” Nathan shifts his feet, then stills.

“Hypothetically,” Mohinder answers thoughtfully. “But I’ve rarely seen it.”

“Maybe you need a better caliber of acquaintances.” Nathan pushes away from the counter and turns to his left, facing the window. He touches his left hand to the counter’s surface and stares straight ahead, giving Mohinder the perfect angle from which to study his profile. Serious but not stern, soft indentations line his forehead and accentuate his clenched jaw.

“EMT work agrees with Peter,” Nathan finally says.

The odd comment is either idle chatter or a deliberate misdirect, neither of which clarifies Nathan’s motive for being here for Mohinder. “A natural extension of his desire to help—,”

“Since he was a kid he wanted to do the right thing, but lacked direction.” Nathan looks his way. “Now he seems to have finally found a purpose.”

Mohinder hears the inflection of a disguised question asking for agreement. He nods and says, “Yes.”

Nathan faces him and takes slow, controlled steps his way. He unbuttons his jacket and puts his hands on his hips, pushing the flaps of the jacket behind. “It’s as if all those confused parts of himself that used to be too much finally clicked,” Nathan says. “It’s funny the calm that settles in when someone feels like their life finally makes sense.”

Taking into consideration the strangeness of their conversation and Nathan’s stance before him, Mohinder decides to take a chance and cut through the cryptic words. Briefly licking his lips he stands up makes sure to keep his tone relaxed. “Have you come here out of concern for Peter or yourself?”

The straightforward question has the desired effect of catching Nathan off guard. As a result his hesitation is incredibly honest.

Pointing his left hand in the air, Mohinder shakes his head. “You’ve been M.I.A for weeks and now, out of the blue, you show up wanting to talk about Peter’s life goals? You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not so inclined to believe you.”

“It was just conversation,” Nathan retorts.

“No, we’ve had _just_ conversations before.” Mohinder steps closer and pushes his hands in his jean pockets. Narrowing his eyes he softens his tone. “We’ve talked about all kinds of things before.”

The implication is more serious than Mohinder intends, but not because it is untrue. There had been something more intimate growing between them and the remembrance of that seeps into his approach, against his better judgment, when he should maintain a cool reserve. Unrealized want; that which will never happen, requires him to return Nathan’s indifferent attitude. Mohinder checks himself. “You’re here for another reason so why not do us both a favour and tell me what it is I am expected to do for you.”

Nathan purses his lips at being called out and drops his arms to his side. He takes one step forward then mindfully changes direction and heads to the window. Mohinder watches him stare outside while gripping the edge of the sill tightly.

Sighing, Mohinder glances at the closed door. When he hears Nathan clear his throat he looks back his way.

Keeping his back to Mohinder, Nathan says, “I’ve been…” He hangs his head forward, and lifts it, rolling his neck. “My mind has been playing strange tricks on me.”

Mohinder furrows his brow but does not interrupt.

Nathan looks over his right shoulder at him and raises his right hand, pointing to his head. “I don’t know what it is but it’s getting stronger, more intense…worse.”

Concerned and curious, Mohinder says, “And you want me to do some tests?”

Nathan turns around to face him. “I need someone I can trust, who won’t leak anything to the media.” He raises his eyebrows emphatically. “And knows not to tell my mom or Peter.”

His insistence on keeping his family in the dark highlights the seriousness of what is being asked. Still, Mohinder knows all too well the trouble that can come from the kinds of secrets that people unknowingly make worse because of discretion. “If this is as serious as you think it is, you shouldn’t be keeping it from those who—,”

“My mother is not to know.” Nathan grimaces and looks to the door before settling back on Mohinder. He raises his right hand and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t even know that this _is_ serious. I’m simply concerned. If I tell her she’ll be all over me. And Pete…I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily.”

The stare between them is a demanding showdown with Mohinder tempted to argue his opposition, to withholding information from loved ones, while simultaneously wanting to get to the bottom of Nathan’s problems.

“Is that understood, Mohinder?”

Mohinder’s eye twitches at the hint of condescension in Nathan’s voice. “Yes,” he forces the word out, thick with annoyance at being talked to as if he were a child.

His frustration is not lost on Nathan who breaks their gaze. “I don’t mean to sound so harsh.” He clasps both of Mohinder’s shoulders. “But I can’t stress enough that it’s your help I’m seeking.”

An unexpected feeling of reconnect to Nathan warms Mohinder’s skin and he nearly misses the odd emphasis on the word ‘your’. It rushes intrigue through him, flattered at being singled out while also unnerved by what it all means. Nervously he opens and closes his mouth, unsure of what he wants to say. He decides to proceed with caution.

“So these mind tricks,” he says and rolls back on his heels encouraging Nathan to let go. “What exactly is happening?”

Nathan regards him thoughtfully for a second, consideration etched in the lines on his face. He begins to pace the room, his uncertainty unfolding in the way he fidgets his hands, in and out of his pockets, touching the counter top and equipment, fingers flexed. “That’s part of the problem. I can’t exactly say what the problem is. Sometimes it’s like blacking out or losing time…but not.”

He meets Mohinder’s gaze and scoffs at how confused he knows he sounds. “I get completely distracted by simple things. I can be going through the transcripts of a briefing one minute when suddenly the only thing I can focus on is the sound of the clock ticking on the mantle on the other side of the room. It’s all I can hear.”

Mohinder keeps his face impassive. He is sure that Nathan is trying to read it to decide if he should go further and since Mohinder needs him to be as honest as possible he does not want to risk thwarting any progress.

“On occasion I get flashes,” Nathan continues. “There are images I can’t make out but they feel like memories. Then…”

His words trail off to nothing and Mohinder knows that now is the time to press. He cuts into Nathan’s path, forcing him to stop. “What is it?”

Nathan puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head forward as he looks at the ground. “I’ve been experiencing déjà vu regarding things that I know I haven’t been through before.”

He peers up and there is innocence in his eyes beneath the raised eyebrows that Mohinder reads as awareness for how crazy it sounds, while also asking for help.

“How long has this been happening?” Mohinder queries.

Surprise briefly flitters across Nathan’s face at Mohinder’s unwavering professionalism. “It used to be at odd times but it’s become much more frequent since—,”

Nathan catches himself, much to Mohinder’s curiosity, and begins pacing the other way.

“Since?” Mohinder asks.

Nathan glances at him but keeps moving, past the windows, microscopes, towards the other side of the room.

Mohinder stays where he is but raises his voice. “I can’t help unless you tell me everything.”

Nathan slows down then approaches Mohinder. He stops on the other side of one of the counters and leans forward, resting on his elbows. “Since we began hanging out…” He grips his hands together then parts them, jutting them forward to drive the point. “Regularly.”

It is not at all the answer Mohinder is expecting and it renders him momentarily speechless. He feels vulnerable under Nathan’s observant stare, scrutinizing him. “You’re…” Mohinder runs his hand through his hair nervously. “Feeling déjà vu with me?”

Nathan pauses and answers. “I know how it sounds, believe me.”

“And that’s why you want my help?”

“You’re also the most qualified.” Nathan stands up, trying to downplay the personal intimacy being suggested.

“I’m a geneticist,” Mohinder states with disbelief and moves towards the same counter, standing opposite Nathan. He presses his palms hard against the surface.

“With resources and some idea of what might work,” Nathan clarifies.

Mohinder’s mind is a mishmash of ideas. It is spinning with the confession that there is something between them, that being together has triggered an intense emotional and physical response in Nathan. At the same time he has no clue how to begin decoding the problem that Nathan is suffering from. Excitement at taking on this challenge and worry for potentially screwing it all up makes Mohinder’s heart race and his stomach do flips. The indescribable look in Nathan’s eyes makes his breath catch, as if Nathan is peering deep within him.

Mohinder runs his tongue along the back of his top teeth. “Be that as it may, the fact that I seem to be part of what’s happening with you means we have a conflict of interest.” Part of him believes this ethical dilemma. The other is looking for a way to shift responsibility. Instinctively he knows this endeavor, if undertaken, will go much further than the simple act of helping a friend.

“I’m not looking for a diagnosis.” Nathan angles his head to the side, the appearance of commanding authority. “Clarification at best. Peace of mind. For a long time I felt like I had a real purpose in my life, one I was not easily dissuaded from.” He brings his hands together at the center of his chest. “It didn’t always make sense but I still knew. And then…” He breaks his hands apart. “It stopped.”

He deliberately holds Mohinder’s gaze past the point of comfortable but neither looks away. Turning his right hand palm up, he goes on. “It was small things at first, not realizing I had lost time daydreaming. I wrote it off.”

“Until,” Mohinder coaxes, fascinated by the personal share.

“You.”

In surprise Mohinder’s eyes go wide at the unapologetic honesty. Nathan gives him a closed mouth smile.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot,” Nathan says and Mohinder muffles an embarrassed smile as he recalls unintentionally accosting Nathan outside his campaign headquarters. “But you and Peter became such great friends. Checking in on your research—and you—I could see why.”

Mohinder is a bit flabbergasted at the compliment but he is also relieved at the confirmation that the connection between them goes both ways, no matter what socio-economic situations dictated to be acceptable.

Nathan raises both hands to his face and uses the heels of his palms to rub his eyes. “And then it wasn’t about Peter, but you and me. I don’t have a lot of friends, Mohinder. At least there aren’t a lot of people I would consider to be friends. I’ve been so caught up in my work and all the other bullshit that goes with it—Jesus, it cost me my marriage, my kids. But I liked hanging out with you. It was a change of pace being with someone who didn’t know my jaded history but wasn’t under the illusion that I was a great testament to humanity either. You’ve never been interested in my coattails.”

The acknowledgment of his importance is a reprieve for Mohinder’s soul. Their transformation from professional to personal has taken time and it gave him one of the most rewarding, though unexpected, bonds in his life. Genuine connections are a rarity but Mohinder has always preferred a small group of confidantes to a wide array of people who would not notice or care for him beyond what he can give them in return.

Few have breached his inner sanctum, for good reason. Always on the outside—with his theories as a geneticist and as a professor, from his father, never following the path of least resistance—he has learned to protect himself by maintaining tall, virtually impenetrable walls. However there are those (_one_) that made it over (_lies_) that he still reels from because he should have known better earlier on and he should have been able to wash his hands of it afterwards, but never could.

The steady build up with Nathan was exactly what the doctor ordered, which was one of the reasons his abrupt disappearance a month earlier had been so strongly felt. Once again Mohinder was on the outside. Until now.

His train of thought distracts him until he notices Nathan eyeing him.

“Sorry. You were saying?” Mohinder apologizes.

Nathan appears to give a second thought to what he is saying before continuing. “It was only a couple of times at first—the way a phrase was said or a particular smell. Then it was whole parts of our conversations and a look in your eyes.”

Nathan gets increasingly agitated as he delivers his confession. With his left arm nearly stationary at his side he moves his right one like it is an exclamation mark at the end of each sentence. “It got to the point where I’d go home and replay our conversations in an attempt to figure out why every time we met everything felt so…_familiar_. _Too familiar_. I don’t know…it’s as if my mind is recognizing something but doesn’t know what it is. I can’t figure it out and it’s pressing down on me, constantly. I…I feel like my mind is telling me that I’m supposed to know it and it’s bombarding me with clues until I do. And then the last time we met—,”

Without warning Mohinder’s face flushes with heat at the way their last get together ended. “It was nothing,” he lies with a dismissive wave of his hand, in an attempt to placate all concerns.

But Nathan does not want that. He quickly leans forward and slams his fists on the counter’s surface. “It wasn’t _nothing_. That’s the problem.”

He is adamant, the insistence behind his words deep in the sharp lines that detail his stern expression. He spreads his hands out, stiffly pressed against the counter, the veins pushing up the skin.

“It all means something,” Nathan says. “But I don’t know what or why. I’m searching for the reference point but I have no idea where to start.”

Mohinder rubs his right hand over his mouth contemplatively; pulling at his lips, then drops it and narrows his eyes in empathetic concern. He may not suffer from confused flashes but he certainly understands the unforeseen connection that exists between them. When he thinks about it, the word that comes to mind is revelatory, which is unexpected to say the least.

What has transpired between them extends beyond the traditional trappings of platonic bonding. He had been pleasantly surprised by how well they got along that he had ignored the voice at the back of his mind that made note of all the quick glances and engaged stares, all the turns of conversation and brushes of touch that were too much like something else; different but the same.

Piled on top of one another in a section of mental storage space, the evidence of the peculiarity of their connectedness is greater than Mohinder had previously allowed himself to imagine. The truth of the matter is that helping Nathan uncover the root of his issues may shed as much light for him. No longer feeling isolated in his overwhelming thoughts, Mohinder’s body thrums with the rush of sharing a carefully guarded secret, a pair of bound conspirators. He smiles to himself, biting the inside of his bottom lip in thoughtful wonder, and sees Nathan quirk his right eyebrow at him.

“You feel it too?” Nathan asks tentatively, standing straight up and pulling his head back like he cannot believe that Mohinder gets it too.

Mohinder holds his breath and nods.

Emitting a relieved sigh, Nathan clutches his chest with his right hand, an open smile balancing out wide eyes that are still disconcerting. “So you’ll help me.”

It is a statement not a question, which would be off putting if not for the fact that is also the truth and Mohinder is uninterested in dragging out denial. “I can’t promise you anything but I can try to help you—us—figure out whatever it is that seems to be here.” Mohinder gestures between the two of them.

“That’s all I’m asking for,” Nathan says, dropping his shoulders like he no longer has to support a massive weight. He looks to the window. “You know, with the exception of my immediate family, you are the one person I feel this strongly about.”

He levels an unblinking gaze at Mohinder and appraises him. “You’re the only person I feel I can trust.”

Mohinder is floored by the sentiment, a rare moment in which all facades are dropped for a break from otherwise stifling constraints. But knowing Nathan, neither of them is ready for this to turn into something saccharine, especially as they still do not know what this is. “Coming from a politician I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.” Mohinder turns up a half smile.

Nathan points his left index finger at Mohinder as if to say, ‘point taken,’ and he winks. It is an amusingly self-assured gesture that Mohinder has come to expect and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

The smile on Nathan’s face falters. “I shouldn’t have bailed on you the way I did.”

“Nathan.”

“Let me finish.” Nathan holds up his right hand and walks around the counter towards him. “I handled it badly but didn’t realize that until now. Because if you can truly appreciate what’s been messing around with my mind then I can’t imagine how I would have reacted if you walked away without a word. For that I’m sorry.”

Mohinder reaches out and squeezes Nathan’s upper left arm affectionately. “So much of my life has been spent trying to make sense of the past. But that only got me so far and along the way I lost track of where I was going. The past is filled with ghosts who only hold you back.”

Nathan thinks a moment. “You’re quite the poetic scientist.”

Stepping back, Mohinder shrugs his shoulders. “My parents insisted on a well rounded education.”

“Jack of all trades?” Nathan muses.

“And master of _some_,” Mohinder puns.

“The right ones.” Nathan begins to move past Mohinder, grabbing his left shoulder with his left hand along the way.

Mohinder turns on the spot to watch Nathan pick his bag up off the floor and hold it out to him. “I’m not sure if your high expectation encourage aspiration or epic failure.” Mohinder takes the bag and slips the strap over his left shoulder.

Nathan wrinkles his brow in uncertainty. “Are you already having second doubts? Talk about a fast turnaround.”

“It’s not that,” Mohinder rushes and takes a deep breath. “From personal experience, however, I’ve seen good intentions reek havoc.”

Nathan folds his arms across his chest. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that once we do this, once we begin uncovering what it is that has begun consuming your mind, there is no turning back.” Mohinder steps into his space and holds his steady gaze. “If we’re in, _we’re in_. There is no undoing it.”

“I appreciate the parental warning, but on the grand scale of things, knowing is worth everything to me.” Nathan looks down at his hands, turning them over, then glances up. “I’ve been kept in the dark by those who had their own designs. I’m doing this for me.”

Mohinder exhales an appreciative huff. “Now that _I _can appreciate.”

“So…when do we start?”

“Well, I need to do some catch up research. Meanwhile you should keep track of any more losses of time, notable distractions, any strong remembrances or flashes, so that we can have starting point to work with.” Mohinder heads to the door and opens it.

“And then?” Nathan asks walking towards him.

Mohinder wonders about what may lie ahead. He considers what delving into Nathan’s mind may change. Knowing the Petrelli family, the discovery could be as fascinating as it is sordid. Or enlightening. Nathan has always been an enigma of sorts; like so many of those Mohinder has met since coming to the United States, he is a confliction of opposites. That Nathan is admittedly bound, indebted, to him, unwaveringly, is an answer to Mohinder’s own question laden ruminations. Two unrelated beings locked together with, seemingly, no rhyme or reason. Destined, but to what degree? Good, bad? Hope, destruction? All of it?

_And then? _

Mohinder smiles at him. “A leap of faith.”

He closes the door behind them.


End file.
